


FYI

by dvske



Series: Count the Ways [4]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Gen, I just wanted some cuteness okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A million little things written a million different ways, but it's just the one that says the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FYI

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [_The Way You Said 'I Love You'_](http://rhvme.tumblr.com/post/137729229293/) prompts via a lovely soul on tumblr. Prompt# 33, on a post-it note.

Somehow, they worked.

They worked despite all arguments otherwise from concerned family and friends, all insisting that co-ed rooming rarely held in the long run. Despite initial discomfort and ensuing periods of silence as they both adjusted to life off campus, to each other. Despite conflicting schedules and brief meets in the corridor during their tradeoffs—Royce, the perpetual night owl, departing for his evening classes and study halls with a begrudging air; Sybil, Miss Socialite, returning to wind down and recharge after a string of meets and greets, rinse and repeat…

They worked. Complemented each other, in a way.

Where she was lively, he was mellow. Where she focused best with background noise, he craved utter silence. While she often prepared meals for them to share and handled grocery lists, outside errands; he leaned more towards the indoor chores and cleaning, the hands-on nit and grit she found distasteful. Where she adapted to plans spun on the fly, she learned he was fonder of structure, set patterns throughout the day.

Complete opposites. They clashed at times, but they found compromise. Balance.

So different than it used to be.

At first, Sybil relished the fact that her work and many social engagements kept her out of the apartment half the day. It was her nature to be on the move. She’d grown accustomed to coming home simply to switch out her things, maybe a new outfit here and there. A quick snack, sleep. Nothing less, nothing more. And it was simpler last year. Just a dorm to herself with no one to pay mind to her clutter, her absence.

But with her final year came the strong desire to break away from the campus and venture closer to the city where her heart truly belonged. That meant higher rent, tighter budgets, longer work hours and course loads spread thin to accommodate accordingly. That meant placed ads and inquiries for roommates, preferably quiet, low-maintenance.

That meant Royce Bracket, an oddity if ever there was one.

She hadn’t been used to someone so…Royce. So speechless, so withdrawn, so orderly to a fault. It was unsettling, from day one, to return from class and find the entire apartment practically sterilized, reorganized and coordinated in a way Sybil had never had the time to attempt. Everything scrubbed down and perfectly in place, small labels on several belongings ( _R.B., do NOT use_ ), and the perpetrator out of sight with a _"do not disturb"_ sign on his bedroom door.

Unsettling to never hear a peep from said room or from the man himself, even when they did cross paths. Unsettling, then strange, then simply curious how his piercing gaze seemed to trail after her with absent fascination, only to break away when she matched it with an arched brow.

Stranger, still, that Sybil soon found his aloofness and awkwardness endearing. Perhaps it was his nerves, anxiety? A bad roommate in the past?  Or perhaps he sensed there was no point in chitchat, with Sybil gone all the time; easy to enjoy all this space to himself. She couldn’t blame him. It was a decent arrangement, so long as respective duties were attended and bills were paid.

She was just, well… Still getting used to all the notes.

Sticky notes, small rectangles of pastel color marked with tiny scrawl, tacked neatly on various surfaces whenever she slipped back inside.

On the front door.

On the hallway table.

On the fridge, the cabinets.

The bathroom mirror. Beside the sink.

His bedroom door.

 _Her_ bedroom door.

_\--- turn off hall light when you leave, please, bulb going in and out, very very annoying –R_

_\--- left your keys (again), kitchen counter –R_

_\--- bonbons, or something or other, some pastry; too sweet, you would like –R_

_\--- out of sugar, speaking of. will buy more, may need creamer too? –R_

_\--- hair in sink. again… –R_

_\--- going to grant’s friday, please lock up on your trip –R_

_\--- goodnight –R_

Goodnight.

The other messages varied, daily, weekly. But he always left her a “goodnight” with more whimsy in his signature than usual. A delicate curl in the R’s tail. A certain flair in the letters, sometimes decorated and stylized. A bold ink, crisp and crimson. Never the same post-it and always freshly written, placed above her doorknob with care.

It’s become a ritual in the few months they’d lived together, his way of showing affection. His way of communicating, since he refused to do so in person. It brought a smile to Sybil’s lips every time.

Each time, she’d pluck the note from her door as she made her way inside, sticking it on the back wall with all the others. A canvas of colors to match the palette of her room. She’d set down her things, thumb through her planner for the following day, then slip on her nightgown.

And each time, before she went to bed, she’d place a sticky note of her own in the same spot for him to see:

_\--- Good morning~ –Syb_


End file.
